


Summer Sang In Me A Little While

by Lynchy8



Series: Stucky fic [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Howling Commandos - Freeform, M/M, Missing Scene, Motorbikes, Pining, brief mention - Freeform, the first avenger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-04-01 00:45:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3999475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynchy8/pseuds/Lynchy8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Sergeant Barnes, a word?”</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>Bucky hadn’t seen Steve all day. In fact, Bucky had hardly seen Steve at all since that first night in London, when the adrenaline was only just starting to wear off and Bucky started to realise that he was actually going to live a bit longer after all. It was also about the time that reality decided to give him a good old smack in the mouth.</i></p><p> </p><p>In the aftermath of being rescued from the Hydra base, Bucky contemplates his new reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Sang In Me A Little While

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> Ok, so this is my first stucky fic. It's a "missing scene" set just after London.
> 
> Just a small content warning - there is a slur used once and implied generic violence and homophobia, but it isn't explicit.
> 
> If anyone would like me to tag something please let me know.

It was hard to miss the way the conversation suddenly dropped away in the barracks where Bucky was spending the half hour before dinner polishing his boots ready for parade in the morning. Dum-Dum’s booming baritone came to an abrupt halt right in the middle of one of his anecdotes, which could only mean that a senior officer had entered the room.

Technically it was Bucky’s job to call the room to attention, but Falsworth pipped him to the post, giving Bucky ample opportunity to drop his boots and the polish in time to salute along with everyone else.

Bucky watched as Steve strode across the room towards him, still moving as though he was the skinny five foot nothing guy Bucky had left back in Brooklyn, rather than this strapping six footer Captain America monstrosity that had apparently replaced him. He stood them at ease before coming to a halt at Bucky’s cot.

“Sergeant Barnes, a word?”

There wasn’t much to be done other than reply “Yes, Sir,” and follow his Captain out of the room, leaving the others to gossip merrily about what their sergeant had done to deserve being called out so close to meal time.

Bucky hadn’t seen Steve all day. In fact, Bucky had hardly seen Steve at all since that first night in London, when the adrenaline was only just starting to wear off and Bucky started to realise that he was actually going to live a bit longer after all. It was also about the time that reality decided to give him a good old smack in the mouth.

Getting to grips with reality meant accepting that the little guy from Brooklyn too stupid to run away from a fight was now running at top speed towards the worst of the war in Europe whether Bucky liked it or not, only now his muscles apparently out-numbered his brain cells. It meant accepting that everything he’d been holding onto about Going Home – their draughty apartment in Brooklyn, Steve on the fire escape in summer with his sketch book on his knees, cold winter nights huddled under every blanket they owned just to make damn sure they didn’t freeze to death, with the added bonus of Steve in his arms – all of that which had kept him going in his darkest hours in the depths of Kreischberg, was never going to happen. 

After a few days in London, they’d all piled into the back of a truck and been driven to a barracks in the rolling English countryside. The days since had mostly been spent training for their return to mainland Europe. Their little gang may have successfully fought their way out of that Hydra base but that didn’t mean they knew how to fight together as a unit. They were a good bunch of guys, though, and after less than a week Bucky trusted them. 

Captain America had graced them with their presence a couple of times, training together to build up trust. This new guy with Steve’s smile was amiable enough but Bucky found himself holding back. It was easier to keep at arm’s length when there was protocol to adhere to; yes Sir, no Sir and everything else that kept the Captain and his Sergeant on a strictly professional basis.

The rest of the time Captain America was off doing Very Important Things in Very Important Meetings with Very Important People. Bucky would see Steve in the Officers Mess for dinner but there wasn’t much chance for casual chat. Steve would always smile at him, though, as if seeing Bucky was the high point of his day. Bucky would smile back even if it made his cheeks hurt because they might have been sitting right next to each other but they may as well have had the entire Atlantic between them. 

And of course, Captain America had his own quarters separate to the rest of them. At night Bucky curled up in his cot listening to the breathing and sighing and snoring of his fellow soldiers, just like he had done for the rest of the war, except that this time the thought of Steve back home no longer kept him warm.

Whatever. Things had changed and Bucky knew it. Not that he was going to sulk about it because he had a job to do and this was the army not a vacation. No time for socialising when there was a war to be won.

Still, Steve’s extended absence that day had been noted. They were due to ship out in forty-eight hours, and while Colonel Phillips had somehow found the time to come bark at them at least twice, Captain Rogers had remained elusive until that moment. As Bucky followed Steve out of the barracks at a march, he felt a pang of regret that the man in front of him with his broad shoulders and straight back, felt like a stranger.

They marched in silence, Steve leading them across the camp towards an inoffensive shed. As they turned the corner, away from prying eyes, Steve stopped by the door, hand resting lightly on the handle. He looked left and right as though checking the coast was clear before giving Bucky a look that was pure Steve Rogers, all blue eyes and the corner of his mouth crooked into the hint of a smile.

“Got something to show you, Buck,” Steve drawled, eyes sparkling. Bucky raised an eyebrow, feeling curious about why Captain America was sneaking around sheds like he had no business being there. Before he had a chance to ask what this was all about, the door was open and they were inside the dim light of the shed. As Bucky’s eyes adjusted he could see that Steve was standing next to a large shadow, staring at Bucky expectantly.

It was a motorcycle. More specifically it was a 1942 Harley-Davidson WLA Liberator Army motorcycle. Bucky had seen a few of the civilian versions back home, and the army version was common enough these days, although Bucky had collected enough cigarette cards in his time to know that this wasn’t just any old Army Liberator either. 

“What do you think?” Bucky looked up to where Steve was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Wow, Rogers, she’s a beauty,” Bucky whistled, looking impressed. He crouched down to inspect the standard olive drab paintwork, a quip about the absence of stars and stripes dying in his throat as he saw just how pleased Steve was with his new bike. 

Steve started to tell Bucky about how she’d been designed specifically for him, the size of the engine, how fast she went, how it had taken him three tries to get the damn thing started without stalling it. Bucky went back to staring at the engine in order to will away the lump that had formed in his throat.

“They modified the seat so I can carry a pillion passenger,” Steve sounded almost shy as he talked across the slightly awkward silence. “Want to go for a ride?”

Bucky straightened up, giving Steve a thoroughly unimpressed look. Some things clearly never changed because Captain Rogers seemed to have forgotten that this was an army base and they couldn’t just hop off on a merry motorbike ride whenever they liked.

“What, and get dragged out by the Sergeant Major for going AWOL? No thanks!” he snorted, thrusting his hands in his pockets, almost challenging _Captain Rogers_ to call him on it. Steve just rolled his eyes at him.

“I’m your senior officer, jerk,” Steve bumped his shoulder, which hurt a lot more than it used to when Steve was almost a clear foot shorter than Bucky. “You get a free pass with me.”

Bucky was tired and hungry. He’d been out on the firing range for most of the afternoon practising with the new rifle Howard Stark had designed for him, and before that he’d been leaping over brick walls and crawling through muddy holes as though to prove that he hadn’t forgotten everything he’d learnt in basic training. What he really wanted to do was eat his dinner and retreat to his cot for some peace and some shut-eye, but Steve was looking so damn hopeful and he’d always been a sucker for that. Bucky shook his head.

“Sure, why not,” he replied. And god dammit, Steve gave him one of those sunshine smiles that made Bucky’s chest hurt. He took a moment to get his head back in the game while Steve went to open the doors at the front of the shed before wheeling the bike out.

Even with the modified seat, there wasn’t a lot of room as Bucky climbed onto the back of the bike behind Steve. In the absence of anywhere else to put them, Bucky settled his hands at Steve’s waist, conscious of just how close they were, Steve’s back pressed up against his chest. If Steve was thinking the same thing as Bucky – that they hadn’t been this close since the night before Bucky shipped out – then he kept it to himself as he kicked the motorbike into life.

The engine roared beneath them and Bucky felt more than heard Steve’s small laugh as though he hadn’t expected it to start first time. Then they were moving, slowly at first as Steve got used to the added weight of a passenger and how that affected their centre of gravity, before bringing the bike up to speed as they headed towards the camp gates.

They didn’t even stop as they passed the security checkpoints. Instead, the guards on duty all saluted as they raised the barriers to let them pass. Bucky supposed Steve turning into Captain America might have its perks after all as they moved off, unchallenged, towards the road beyond the camp.

The English country roads were narrow and winding, bordered by hedges. But every so often there would be a break and Bucky would catch a brief glimpse of patchwork hills before they were obscured once more by yet more trees and hedges. 

They must have been doing well over 50mph, Bucky gripping Steve’s waist hard because _someone_ might have spent the day learning how to drive a motorcycle, but Bucky had only ever been on things that moved at a far more sedate pace; streetcars, ships, trucks and, just the once at a camp in Italy four weeks before the battle at Azzano, an actual tank. Travelling at breakneck speed down an unfamiliar road with nothing between him and the rest of the world except fresh air was an entirely new experience. 

All Bucky could hear was the roar of the bike and the whoosh of the wind as it whipped cold against his cheeks. They leaned into the corners whenever they turned, and Bucky couldn’t help but think back to the days when they rode the 86th Street Line, hanging off the back for as long as possible before they inevitably got caught, but still trying again because they knew it went to Coney Island. 

It was the speed of the bike that really got to him, made him all the more aware of the blood flowing through his veins, pumping loudly in his ears. Hell, it wouldn’t surprise Bucky if they were going faster than the Cyclone at Coney Island, though Steve seemed to be handling the bike a lot better. Maybe this new version of Steve who didn’t have asthma or scoliosis and whose heart beat loudly and in the correct rhythm, no longer got sick on rollercoasters.

They were travelling uphill, the bike complaining as it struggled with the incline. Then Steve steered the bike off the road so suddenly, Bucky reflexively tightened his grip at Steve’s waist. He waited for any sign that they were slowing down, but they continued on down what Bucky couldn’t even charitably call a track, not really, it was just an absence of trees. They bounced across twigs and old leaves, steering around the bigger holes, before they broke through onto a grassy plane.

Steve brought the bike to a halt, cutting the engine, replacing the growl of the bike with birdsong. Bucky exhaled slowly, aware of just how hard his heart was beating, letting his fingers relax so that he wasn’t holding Steve quite as tight.

There was a low, guttural laugh, and it took Bucky a moment to realise it had come from him. He was laughing as he gingerly climbed off the bike, whole body still thrumming with adrenaline. Glancing up, Steve was grinning at him, face flushed and his hair askew from the wind. For a moment they stood in an exhilarated silence, enjoying the come down from the bike ride.

Eventually Bucky had to turn away, look at something other than Steve because looking at Steve hurt. He was all new and tall and healthy and just plain wrong, and it reminded Bucky of how much he hated himself for resenting the fact that his best buddy, who had nearly died more times in his twenty-five years than Bucky could count, was gone.

They’d stopped at the top of a hill looking over a valley. More green. Bucky wasn’t sure he’d ever seen so much green in his life. Europe seemed to be one large collection of trees and fields. What he wouldn’t give to get back to his city; the sounds and the smells, the babies crying at night, even the neighbours shouting and hollering while the kids raced up and down the fire escapes. 

Sighing at the futility of such a train of thought, Bucky flopped down on the grass, extending his legs out in front of him, taking advantage of the fact that, for now, there was no one to yell at him to get up and do something. Behind him, Steve was wrestling with the straps of the panniers, before producing a water flask and something that looked suspiciously like it might contain sandwiches.

“You hungry, Buck?” Steve looked at him innocently, holding the packet in his hand as though doubtful that Bucky would be interested in its contents.

“Is that a serious question, Rogers?” Bucky retorted. His stomach chose that moment to rumble particularly loudly, as though sensing the proximity of food. Bucky honestly didn’t care if it was K rations, as long as it was vaguely edible.

It turned out to be somewhat better than K rations. 

“Holy shit, Rogers, is that chicken?” Bucky exclaimed as Steve unwrapped the packet and a familiar scent wafted past Bucky’s nose. Roast chicken made him think of Sundays with his ma and Becca, helping lay the table and knowing that he’d be forced to eat his spinach if he had any hopes of being allowed dessert. It meant chicken sandwiches in his lunch bag on Mondays, usually an unheard of luxury.

”Where the hell did you get real chicken sandwiches from?”

Steve just smiled indulgently, holding the packet out for Bucky to take, and take he did. The first bite was honestly the best thing Bucky had ever tasted, prompting him to mutter an apology to his ma because she was a truly excellent cook, but after weeks of D and K rations and whatever the English were trying to pass off as food at this base, real Chicken sandwiches was the food of kings and Bucky tucked in with gusto, allowing a small moan as he swallowed his first mouthful.

“There’s ham too if you fancy some,” it sounded like Steve was laughing at him. Well Steve could laugh all he liked, because some people hadn’t been travelling across America with a bunch of chorus girls and dining with senators for the past couple of months. Although even as he thought it, Bucky felt rather mean=spirited because none of that had been Steve’s fault and he had invited him out here on the bike and had even brought sandwiches instead of letting Bucky go hungry.

“You wining and dining me, Rogers?” Bucky tried to lighten the atmosphere which suddenly felt rather tense. It fell flat, though, especially when Steve’s face went carefully neutral in reply.

“I dunno, Buck,” Steve took a bite from his own sandwich, looking intently at the ground so that his bangs fell over his face in such a way that made Bucky want to sweep them back with his fingers. Steve had always been handsome in Bucky’s eyes. His face held a myriad of expressions and even when he was pissed at Bucky for something – for leaving his shoes in the middle of the floor, or they were butting heads because it was summer and their flat was too hot which led to frayed tempers and slammed doors – even when Steve was glaring at him, mouth drawn up in fury, he was still beautiful.

And apparently that hadn’t changed; Bucky felt his stomach swooping as Steve looked up at him, expression soft, almost shy.

“Don’t seem like you got much time for me these days,” he said quietly, almost like he didn’t want Bucky to hear.

Bucky opened his mouth and promptly closed it again. When had things gotten so strained between them? Bucky and Steve and always been that; Bucky-and-Steve. Since they were kids where there was one you could guarantee the other wasn’t that far away. The whole of Brooklyn knew of them as best friends, and of course there were other things that they’d both taken great pains to make sure the whole of Brooklyn didn’t know about.

After all, being a queer was one way to find yourself floating face down in the Hudson. 

But being with Steve had been entirely worth it. Loving Steve was a wonderful thing, and knowing that Steve had loved him back had been amazing, even if he didn’t understand what Steve saw in him or why the world couldn’t see Steve the way he did. 

But now Steve had the world at his feet and Bucky didn’t know how they fitted together any more. And then there was Agent Carter; smart dame with a good head on her shoulders. You’d have to be blind not to notice the way she looked at Steve, or the way Steve looked right back. 

“Just been giving you your space, Rogers,” Bucky said bracingly, trying to break the atmosphere. Steve made a face, presumably at the continued use of his surname. “Don’t seem like you need me much these days anyway,” he added bitterly.

To his surprise, Steve snorted, brushing his hands free of crumbs now that he’d finished his sandwich, before flopping down onto his back, staring up at the sky.

“I always knew you took the stupid with you, _Barnes_ , but I didn’t realise you were carrying so much of it.”

Silence settled over them again, but this time it was a little easier. His own sandwiches finished, Bucky laid down next to Steve, crossing his arms behind his head as he looked up at the cloudless sky. The late afternoon sun was still surprisingly warm and Bucky felt his body beginning to loosen for the first time in a long time. 

In a few days they’d be back in the middle of things; he knew their mission was to wipe Hydra off the map. It meant going back to face the people who had strapped him to that table, who had tortured him without even asking him any questions. But right at that moment, on that hill in the arse end of nowhere, England, it was just the two of them. Bucky closed his eyes, exhaling deeply.

“Missed you, Stevie,” he murmured.

He heard Steve stir next to him, shifting slightly and then a press of warm lips against his own, lips that he would know anywhere. He kissed back, leaning into the hand that clasped his cheek.

“Missed you too, Buck.”

+

The ride back to base seemed quicker than the trip out. Bucky’s arms encircled Steve’s waist and he took the opportunity to press himself close into Steve’s back while there was no one to observe them. As they careered down the hill, Steve let out a whoop, reminding Bucky that while some things had changed forever, it wasn’t all bad. He pressed a kiss to the back of Steve’s neck, the skin warm and with a scent that was all Steve; just for a moment the war felt far away.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from "Sonnet" by Edna St Vincent Millay.
> 
> About the bike: apparently this is the bike Steve would have had in the war - but imagine my despair at discovering these were usually single-occupant bikes?! *sigh* But of course it makes sense for Steve to have a modified bike for reasons :-p
> 
> many thanks go to Sarah and Claire for kindly being my soundboards and enablers :)


End file.
